The Past Of Khan
by Doctor-Of-The-T.A.R.D.I.S
Summary: ST:ID someone with that much anger needs a past, and as always, it starts with a woman...
1. Chapter 1

A rainy day was how it started. His second chance at a good life began on November 11, 1952. People were running to their destinations, huddled under their umbrella's or coats, cars drove by and splashed water everywhere when they hit deep puddles, and the clouds were a dark shade of stormy grey. A stray dog barked somewhere on the streets of London, and a homeless man sat on the sidewalk, begging for money from those who passed the poor soul. A man, with startling cheekbones and sharp grey eyes clad in a pristine pinstriped suit and long coat, a fedora on top of his head and un umbrella in his hands, and a cigar in the other, stood by the corner beside a bookshop, watching as people walked by, watching, observing, _searching…_ for what? He would know when he saw it, and he patiently waited while the world passed him by. Minutes passed, and then hours and the man went surprisingly unnoticed by anyone passing by. The rain stopped and the clouds fled, leaving behind the glowing stars, and the crescent moon hanging high in the otherwise clear inky blackness of the sky. The man, long since retracted his umbrella, had barely moved a muscle for the whole day other than to shift, so as to not become stiff, as that would ruin his relentless endeavor to find what he was looking for. More minutes passed, and any remaining light was snuffed out as the sun disappeared from sight completely, leaving the only source of light being the street lamps every ten meters down the street, leaving The man on the corner puffing on his cigar and standing in the shadows, which concealed him from eyes that did not search him out. If you were not looking for him, you would not see him. One Genevieve Richards made the mistake of traveling alone, slightly tipsy from the bar, her home only a ten minute walk from this particular street, unaware of the man in the shadows, and the sudden grin that lit up his face when he saw the well dressed woman, in an expensive dress, clearly custom, made of cream silk and a jewel studded belt wrapped around her trim waist. She had her shoulder length, bright red hair in curls, and her porcelain skin slightly flushed with drink, as she walked down the sidewalk, closer and closer toward the man, his grin making his handsome face almost ethereal, with an unmistakable layer of anger, the woman was exactly like all the others he had…. Encountered. Rich and reckless, wasting her money on a pint and then stumbling down the street, displaying her superiority over the rest of the world, thinking herself higher than the rest of them. When she crossed in front of him the man dropped his cigar in the drain and grabbed the woman, covering her mouth and pulling her into the alleyway in one smooth movement, his highly intelligent mind calculating every possible outcome and way that this would happen. Not one of them prepared him for this.

The woman in his arms at fist struggled, frantically trying to get away, a instinctive struggle she would not win, before going limp, tears pouring down her face, her face not marred by it, as she had no need for makeup. The fight that lasted for a moment left her and she mumbled something under his hand as he set her on the ground in the deeper part of the alleyway. He removed his hand and asked her to repeat herself, a curious glint in his eyes. When she did, he almost lost his composure and gapped in shock and confusion.

"_You're Khan aren't you? Please, if you're going to kill me, do it, but please, make it quick." _

He stared in shock at the woman before him, not afraid of him at all, not afraid of death, she was almost begging him to kill her, do away with her like all the others. Why?

"_Why?" _ His deep baritone voice made the woman look at him, and she starred at him as she gave her answer.

"I have nothing left to live for Mr. Khan, My fiancé has been killed, by my father no less, and I have been kicked out of my home, only the clothes on my back and a few meager pounds to which to feed myself, and no place to live and no one to go to. I have nothing Mister Khan, and I would much rather die swiftly from a knife than slowly from starvation."

And Kahn felt something he had thought beaten out of him as a small child by his mother, something he swore never to feel again, Sentiment. He felt sorry for this woman, and even as he raised the knife, ready to slit her throat, his hand wavered, and he dropped the knife, unable to kill this woman that had made him actually _feel. _

When the woman realized she wasn't about to be killed her eyes fluttered open, and she starred at him with confused honey colored eyes.

"Why?" she asked. Oh such a simple question and one he wanted to answer. And so, for the first time since he was ten years old, he told the truth to a woman.

"Because you made me feel. I want to know why." The confusion on her flawless face turned into realization, and then melted into sadness, sadness, that for the first time ever, directed toward him.

"Oh you poor man… you really can't feel much can you?" The woman waited for his answer patiently, her family was a family of well-known doctors, and she had heard of a condition that was caused by past abuse, or a part of the brain that didn't work, that stopped the person from feeling emotion for anyone but themselves, except for anger and hatred that was strong enough to break through.

The man answered her slowly with a whispered and hesitant "yes…"

The man, Khan, thought for a moment, noticing the woman's clothes were ripped in some places, and the flush of red on her cheeks were from tears, not a night at the pub. He slight stumble caused by a clearly sprained right ankle. He looked back up at the woman's face, and instead of seeing anger, or hate, or even fear, he saw tenderness, and caring.

He made his decision at that moment, one that would change his life forever, both their lives, and would start something huge.

"Would you like to come home, with me? I have an extra bedroom, and you look like you could use a place to stay." As he talked, Khan stood up, and put his hand out for the woman to grasp, as she pulled herself up, he added;

"And call me James, James Hadrian." He gave a small smile when the woman looks at him with a smile of her own.

"I am Genevieve Richards. But you can call me Vivian."

James nodded, and so they walked the short few blocks toward his luxurious flat. He was not poor; he was very well off, having a small line of prominent tea shops and cafés in London. When they walked into the flat after passing the confused bellhop, ( whom he passed a few notes to in order to keep his mouth shut about Vivian) Vivian gasped and smiled, looking at the large area of his flat, the walls painted a sapphire blue, trimmed with gold and silver swirls, a couch made of clack velvet and two large armchairs sat on each side of the large couch, made of black leather, faced an elaborate black marble fireplace, not an electric one, but a real fireplace, already crackling merrily. A large kitchen with expensive appliances lead into a hallway with four doors; two bathrooms, and two bedrooms, and another room opened into a study, and stain glass doors led into a large balcony across from the living room, plush chairs and a round glass table sat on the balcony.

She turned around smiling at James.

"It's beautiful. I'll find my room. Thank you so much James, you are a great man."

She went to turn around, then changed her mind and reached up and pecked him on the cheek, then walked away, leaving the stunned man to try and pull his jaw up off the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Khan didn't sleep much most of the time, as his 'job' kept him awake, sometime for days on end. The longest he had ever stayed awake was a week, and after that it took him very little time to recuperate, surprisingly. Tonight was one of those nights that he could not even force himself to sleep, even having a calming cuppa of tea mixed with honey could not force his wide-awake body into slumber. The house was very quite, other than the occasional cream from the wind outside. Because of the silence he could hear the small shifting sounds in Vivian's bedroom, telling him she was having a restless sleep. He couldn't help but feel responsible for it, and with that thought, he let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowing and his hands clasped in from of his face in what he thought of as a thinking pose.  
What was it about this woman that made him care? Made him feel? Made him feel guilt for even thinking about his actions toward her, and even others. A seed of thought planted itself in his mind, a glimmer of an idea on what had happened to make him like this again, and the thought was shocking.

-THEPASTOFKHAN-

Years ago, when he was only a teenager, he had come across a book in the library, it was an old book clearly,  
The leather cover worn and torn , the pages yellowed and delicate. There was no title on the inside, and the book was bound with a leather strap that had a old and scratched up buckle made of what looked like iron. The only thing on the cover what a picture in faded silver and gold of a tree with a symbol in the middle, he couldn't quite remember what it looked like, as if it was blurred in his mind.

Khan was, of course, very intrigued, and proceeded to open the book as fast as he could, but being careful to not tear any of the delicate pages.

(HEALING KARMA: THE RICHARD'S FAMILY TREE)

The title was informative yet not, telling him it was a family tree, but the first part of the title confused him, until, of course he read the book itself. His eyes became wide as he read things he just could not believe, but the proof was in front of him. He closed the book, and looked back and forth, making sure nobody was around, and then slid the book into his ragged bag. He hoped that his mother would never find this book.

-THEPASTOFKHAN-

Khan opened his eyes, fat as lightning as he Jules I the couch and raced as silently as possible to his room and his bookshelf. Pushing aside books till he got to a secret hatch, he reached into the secret compartment he put into his wall and shelf when he first more in. When he found what he was looking for . He brought the book out and read through it again, long through the night. When he was done it was only five in the morning. He sat on his bed, staring at the book now closed in his hands. He couldn't believe it.

Genevieve Richards was a healer. A powerful healer.

And she healed him.

TBC...


End file.
